Chapter 8
A couple of days later, Beth’s feet ached as she finished another day of owning a bookshop.
Not only that, despite her fitness, her back also throbbed, her shoulders were tight and even her neck seemed to be struggling with the weight of her head.
A part of her just wanted to fall into a hot bath and then bed, but she’d agreed to go to a stupid rowing club party.
She picked up her phone, about to message Cesca and cancel, but her finger hovered over the screen.
Was she going to let herself go back to her old ways already? She looked at Polo, having trapped him inside and about to force him into the cat carrier. Instead of swiping to message Cesca, she put the phone down and found some treats to tempt him inside it. He wasn’t convinced and refused to move.
‘I know, my little friend. I wouldn’t want to get into that little prison either,’ she said out loud. ‘But it’s not for long. You’ll have the whole apartment to play in soon.’ Still the cat wouldn’t move. ‘Please? I need to get ready! I haven’t got time for this.’
This was why you shouldn’t have said yes, said a mean part of her brain, but she quietened it. When she got back tonight the cat would sleep on her bed again, and she found she was quite looking forward to it.
After she threw most of the packet into the back of the carrier, Polo drew close enough to sniff and, with a gentle shove from behind, a tactic she’d picked up after several disastrous attempts, he was soon in the carrier, and she closed the latches on the grate. A sad meow came from inside.
‘Oh shush, it’s not for long.’
Fastening her coat and grabbing her bag, and now the cat, she made her way home.
She unlocked Spotify and put on a party playlist to cheer herself up.
As the music filled the small apartment, she danced to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of beautiful Italian wine (she was sure they kept all the best stuff for themselves) and made her way to the bathroom.
Polo was now curled up on the sofa, sleeping.
She quite liked having him there, stopping to stroke him every time she moved near enough, hearing his gentle purrs of contentment.
Maybe she should have considered a pet before now.
An hour later, Beth slipped on her most comfortable black heels and headed out feeling good.
The skater-style black dress showed off her toned arms and though she wasn’t that keen on her legs, the length was just right, sitting just on her knees.
With a spritz of her favourite perfume she felt elegant and pretty for the first time in ages.
She’d remembered the diffuser on her hairdryer and had styled her long hair into gentle waves that fell around her face.
Daisy and Elsa had sent her two thumbs-up emojis and a short video of them wolf-whistling to show their approval.
They’d been wowed by Polo, cooing that she’d done the right thing, but also slightly disappointed she’d ever considered, even for a nanosecond, taking him to a sanctuary.
Venice was such a small city it didn’t take long to get to the clubhouse.
The outside had been decorated in bunting in the colours of the Italian flag and light spilled from the large windows.
The deep notes of a heavy bass thudded through the ground and up into her feet.
For a fleeting second, she wondered if she’d have been better off cuddled up at home, in her pyjamas with Polo beside her as they got to know each other better.
Her shoulders tensed up as nerves coiled in her stomach.
She’d been so busy she hadn’t had a chance to feel anxious about going to a party on her own but now she was here nerves crept in.
She knew Cesca and a few others but not many people.
Who would she talk to? Would it be awkward?
She tended to see the same faces each time she went to the gym, but this was for every member of the rowing club.
Would those people be there? She could make small talk in a business setting but that was the professional her.
Like a persona. Here, she’d have to be herself, let her guard down.
Another chill ran through her and Beth gave herself a mental shake as the urge to run home gripped her again.
She’d got all dressed up and styled her hair.
She might as well go in for one drink. If she still felt the same way in half an hour, she could go home then.
That’s what she did when she didn’t want to work out.
She told herself ten minutes and if she wanted to stop, she could.
She never did. At least she had the comfort of being fluent in Italian.
Rolling her shoulders back, she walked inside.
People had spilled into the small hallway, and the music grew deafeningly loud as she entered the main function room.
It was elegant with white-clothed tables and chairs and a dance floor down one end.
The crowd of rowers and their partners were spread throughout, some talking in groups, some dancing on the crammed dance floor.
A DJ played the typical party songs you’d imagine with a few home-grown Italian ones she’d heard on the radio.
She spotted Cesca, dancing with a young man she hadn’t seen before.
Beth smiled that her friend was as uninhibited with her dancing as she was in life, moving her body in an unrestrained way that seemed so joyous and fun.
When Cesca spotted her, she waved, encouraging Beth onto the floor, but Beth needed a good few drinks before she started throwing herself around.
Holding her hands up in refusal, she signalled her need for a drink just as a deep voice from beside her made her stop.
‘You’re not a dancer then?’
She turned to see Marco and forced herself to keep her mouth closed and not let her jaw hit the floor.
He looked stunning in a navy suit and crisp white shirt open at the collar.
On someone else it might have looked too buttoned up, but he wore it with a confidence that was magnetising.
She looked down to see a pair of worn trainers adding a casual edge and a touch of character to the outfit. She approved.
‘I don’t go near a dance floor unless I’ve had at least half a bottle of wine first.’
His eyes skimmed over her figure, sending a thrill through her, and she’d never been gladder that she’d kept this barely used dress.
Like a gentleman, his gaze quickly went to her face, and he smiled.
‘Then we better get you something before my sister drags you onto the dance floor whether you want to go or not. She likes to kidnap people if the “Macarena” comes on.’
‘Is that a favourite in Italy? I thought that was just a cheesy UK thing.’
‘No, it’s everywhere. Unfortunately.’
‘You’re not a fan of dancing either then?’
‘Not unless it’s with the right person. So what will you have?’
‘Red wine, please.’
She wasn’t sure what to make of that right person comment and they headed towards the bar.
She hadn’t realised his hand was near her lower back until his fingers pressed there gently, as he guided her through the crowd.
A tingling seemed to ripple out from where he’d touched her.
Once she’d picked up a large, delicious-smelling glass of red, the rich notes hitting her nose already, he signalled to a quieter corner, the opposite end to the DJ and disco lights, and they made their way over.
So desperately unused to flirting, Beth felt suddenly self-conscious.
Her lungs seemed to have filled with thorns and they were prickling her as she breathed in and out.
‘So …’ she began, then the sentence fizzled out. What should she talk about? What would a man like Marco be interested in? And should she speak in English or Italian? ‘Thank you for the flowers. They really brightened the place up.’
‘I’m glad you like them. I didn’t get to ask what brought an Englishwoman here to Venice in the first place?’
Feeling back on sturdier ground, she told him about the galleria and the years of studying that had brought her to her secondment.
‘You’re not regretting the bookshop then?’
‘Not yet.’
‘That’s good. Perhaps it’s what was meant to happen.’
‘Maybe. Did you know I’ve inherited a cat too?’
‘A cat?’ He laughed, throwing his head back, and she couldn’t help but laugh along with him.
‘It’s mad, I know.’ She told him about Polo and how he was now living with her at the apartment and being ferried to and from the book barge every day. Even to her ears it sounded an odd thing to have happened.
‘I don’t normally agree to impulsive things like that,’ she added.
‘Perhaps you should.’ He chuckled again. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone doing what you have.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good thing.’
‘It probably is. Following your heart is … good … and fun.’
‘I don’t know if I’ve got time for fun. I’ve got a lot to do before the tourist season, and I’ve been thinking of ways to make money during the off-season too.
I’d love to work with local artists more, given my background, maybe hosting events or even selling their works, but it’s something I need to look into.
I’m really only just getting started, but I can’t wait too long.
I need to earn money sooner rather than later. ’
‘What type of art interests you?’
She sipped her wine, and realised that the rich spicy notes matched that of his aftershave.
A hint of sandalwood and dark berries had reached her nose, and it suited him.
‘I don’t know really. Anything and everything, I suppose.
It could be paintings, ceramics, photography …
all of it. My background is in art – Renaissance paintings and things like that – I’ve never particularly loved modern art, but I’m open to anything at the moment. ’